


Between The Shadow And The Soul

by EffingEden



Category: Prison Break
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-11-27
Updated: 2010-11-27
Packaged: 2017-10-13 10:03:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/136040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EffingEden/pseuds/EffingEden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael finds himself in Mahone's control</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Chaos. Dark, close, over-hot, inescapable chaos. His balance was dragged off by the firm hand gripping the chain that linked the cuffs, tugging up to make his shoulders and elbows blaze with strain. His legs shook, the build-up of acid in his muscles agonising. His blood roared in his ears, his heart pounding as if he was running flat out, not staggering. His desperate gasps for air burned his lungs. He could feel his own breath bouncing back against his face, making the darkness worse. Fear and panic spiralled, strong and vicious. He couldn’t think, couldn’t shake the darkness within his own mind. It shouldn’t be like that – even in utter darkness his mind was a flare of quick, clear thought. Everything he saw, felt, heard was dissected, broken down to its base parts, reconstructed, added together and used for the end goal. Now, the only light he saw was the purple and green smudges of illusion his mind created to play on the back of his eyes so the dark was not dominant. There was nothing to see, nothing to help,

Details, details – focus!

The ground he was being led over was hard – maybe concrete or cement – but there was grit that crunched and slid underfoot. There was traffic, more to his left and in behind. The hand that gripped the handcuffs usually tugged up but sometimes to one side. Something tickled his neck. His right ankle, knee and hip hurt from more than just muscle burn. There was something close to his face that reflected his breath back to him.

Suddenly, the hand jerked harder than before. Pain bloomed, dragging a sound from his throat. Pressure against his knees and dampness seeping through the cloth covering them told him he had lost his footing. The jerk had been him falling, though he felt like he was still up and moving.

“Up. Get up.” A man’s voice. Tired, distorted from heavy breathing. Mahone.

He tried, finding it difficult with his arms wrenched back so acutely. “Please,” he tried to say, the word lost in his savage gasps. His head rolled, his neck not able to support it as pain and panic squirmed through his mind.

The pain in his shoulders eased, and the hand moved to his collar, dragging at him. “Get. Up.”

As he tried again, he heard a new sound. A siren of police. More than one.

The front of his collar bit into his throat as Mahone pulled at him again. This time, he managed to get his feet under him, though he staggered heavily. His body wasn’t obeying him as well as it usually did – what had happened? The burn in his legs meant he had been running. The pain down his lower right side, the fragmented jumble of his mind, the blood he could taste in his mouth hinted he had been captured roughly, or that he had been hurt and then caught.

The hand moved back to his wrists, serving to force him in the direction Mahone wanted and to keep him, if not balanced than on his feet. He noticed there was a pattern to how he was directed. Mahone zig-zagged. Not quickly, as if avoiding a sniper, but with deliberation like he was walking around something. Things roughly the size of… cars? A parking lot?

A sharp shove jolted him out of his thought process, his front slammed into cool metal. He let his body flop against it, recognising the blunt square press against his thighs and the streamline slope at his chest as the rear end of a car.

There was a rattling chime behind him – keys. For the car. How had Mahone known where he’d be with such surety he had a damn car in walking distance? What had happened? He couldn’t remember. He couldn’t-

Mahone’s hand was at the back of his neck again, pinning his down. “I never thought you’d be one to hyperventilate, Michael. Every character reference I’ve collected on you, the key word’s been ‘stoic’.”

There was the sound of a gun being holstered. He hadn’t even realised Mahone had his weapon drawn. There was a metallic slide and crisp clunk. The hand clutched, pulling him backwards, tugging him a few feet to a side before pushing him forwards. Not to a door, but to the trunk.

“Alex-” he tried to start, but the agent gave a harsh tug, making pain radiate through his shoulders. He would gasp in agony if he wasn’t already gulping down air like he had been drowning.

“Shut up. In. Or I can shoot you right here.” One hand left his body, as if Mahone was reaching for his weapon.

If Mahone was bold enough to execute him at a roadside parking lot, he wouldn’t need to take him somewhere more secluded to do it.

Blind, exhausted and hurting, he all but toppled into the car’s trunk. Mahone roughly folded him up, pushing his legs inside the cramped space. Before he could try to speak again, Mahone slammed the trunk shut and locked it. The sounds of the road were muffled, but he could hear the door open. At least Mahone wasn’t just leaving him locked in. The door shut a moment later and the engine turned over with a smooth purr. The vibration of the engine rumbled through the metal bodywork of the car, shivering through him.

The car lurched forwards, and Michael hissed as the awkward position put more strain on his wrenched shoulder. “Alex!”

“The option of shooting you is still very much there, Michael. I’d rather not have to, so keep your mouth shut.” He sounded angry, not furious but… nervous, frustrated.

They turned out into traffic – Michael could tell from the rhythmic slow ease forwards then break, slow ease forwards then break. They were headed away from where Mahone had pulled him from, but he couldn’t recall where he had been in the moments before Mahone had him staggering away from it.

The silence stretched. Mahone wasn’t in the mood for a handy gloat. With his chest still working like he was sprinting for his life, he did his best to remember…


	2. Chapter 2

_Running. He had been running away. Running hard._

But he knew that already, from the burn through this legs, the raw ache in his lungs.

Why had he ran? Who had chased him – Mahone? Was it so simple? Mahone had him, but was that all? He couldn’t see it. There was nothing.

Okay. So he couldn’t remember why. What could he remember?

Lincoln, going to get LJ. Losing the money. Getting Sucre out of the river. Buying a car. Then – the botanical garden. The Apache Desert Ghost.

The car lurched sharply to the right, forcing his body to roll against his will. Pain screamed through his shoulder, lancing out like an electric web down his arm and across his chest and back. Michael crushed his eyelids shut. His breathing stumbled. His mind fixated on the details, trying to hold together through the agony.

The cuffs were tight, tacky, warm. They had been on a while – long enough for the metal to collect his body heat. Something made them sticky. The bite of them was worse than he was use to – put on in a hurry by someone who didn’t want to give him any wriggle room. He could feel the nap of the trunk’s carpeting under three fingers on his left hand. It was nylon, scratchy. There was a change in the sound of the tyres – they were diving over some different tarmac.

The car eased back onto a straight path, letting Michael ease his weight from his hurt shoulder. There was something wrong with it. Dislocated, perhaps. He prayed it wasn’t broken.

So… the Desert Ghost. He had gone to the garden. Sneaked in. It had gone smoothly for once. The one time things had gone his way. He got to the right flowerbed and dug up the box of nitroglycerine. He’s had to pause once to answer a few questions one of the tourists had about it.

He got the case. Went to an internet café to understand the agent hunting him, then to a pay-per-hour motel. Opened it up to check they were intact, and… it wasn’t glass vials in the case. They were plastic. In the bottom was a tracer chip.

Then – what? Agent Mahone must have come. He couldn’t remember. Damn it, he couldn’t do anything without details, and he couldn’t even remember how he had gotten out of that motel –

His breathing was so loud and fast he almost couldn’t hear the tyres anymore. He had to calm down. Panicking wouldn’t help.

The car swung again. The pain was excruciating, but his mind was slowly distancing itself. It wasn’t that the pain was lessening, rather the endorphins were kicking in. It was easier to cope with, though his chest still hitched.

The car slowed – there was a slight dropping sensation. Maybe they were going down a hill? A moment later, the car came to a full stop. The engine purr died away. The driver’s door opened and shut.

Michael counted the seconds, holding his breath to hear anything…

Fear coiled through his body as the silence pressed down on him. Mahone wouldn’t have just left him in here. He would be back. He would be. He would be.

Michael had counted to four-hundred-and-fifty-seven before he heard the trunk being opened.

“Move, come on.”

Mahone sounded calmer, now they weren’t in the open.

Michael stretched out his legs, Mahone grabbing him by his left ankle and guiding it to open air. His right leg didn’t want to move, stiff and shooting pain up from his ankle, knee and hip. It was awkward sitting up, but Mahone’s hand curled behind his neck, dragging him up. Michael paused once he was upright, his head spinning, but Alex didn’t stop, trying to urge him out faster.

“Wait, wait…” Michael rasped.

Mahone snorted. “If you think I’m going to give you any slack, Scofield –”

“If you don’t let me use my hands, I’m going to fall when I get out.”

“Then you’re going to fall.”

Michael clenched his jaw at Mahone’s reply, but the feel of the man’s dry, rough skinned fingers squeezing his nape let him know there was no other option. He sighed and shuffled himself so his knees were hooked over the lip of the trunk, Mahone’s hand moving up to cushion the back of his head from the trunk’s door, his other hand fisting in Michael’s shirt. With a grunt, Michael surged his weight forwards, Mahone pulling him at the same time to help him out.

As predicted, Michael’s right leg failed to hold his sudden weight, the limb crumpling painfully under him. His head was saved from the concrete by Mahone’s hand still fisted in his clothes, making his body bump the agent’s leg. Michael groaned tightly, struggling against the waves of pain flooding his mind.

Mahone stepped away and let go, letting Michael slide the rest of the way to the floor for the moment to close the trunk and lock the car. There was a small moment of silence as Michael was allowed to catch his breath before Mahone’s hand came down on his shoulder.

Michael flinched, and the hand lifted, moved to his under arm. “Get up now. You can sit down in a minute.”

It was difficult, but he got to his feet. His right leg shook and buckled more than once in the short journey. Michael could tell they were inside somewhere big – the echoes of his own bitten off curses faint but there. The air got cool, then the echoes changed. The flooring wasn’t concrete anymore – it was something smoother.

“In here,” Mahone murmured, tugging him around. There was a squeak of door hinges. It closed after them, the space feeling closer now. He was guided a few more steps, then pushed down into a seat. Air hissed through his teeth at the jolt of pain. Mahone grabbed the hood and pulled it away. Harsh white light drove into his eyes, like burning daggers were being twisted into his sockets. He grimaced and turned his face away, squinting his eyes and trying to see passed the light.

“Nasty head wound, Scofield. Here I was thinking you were smart enough to know a car always wins when you go against one.” He felt light fingers brush over his scalp, edging an area on his temple that was dully throbbing.

Michael tilted his head away from the touch. “Why did you bring me here, Alex? This isn’t the usual procedure for arrest.”

“No. It isn’t. I wanted to talk to you off the record, Michael. Don’t worry, I’ll arrest you once I’m done.” Hands brushed over him again, over his body. His pockets. “I need to know some things that I can’t ask in an interrogation room.”

“What ‘things’?”

“Things about you and your brother. His case. It doesn’t add up.” He tugged something out of Michael’s left breast pocket. Michael squinted at Mahone, who was looking it over. “Impersonating an FBI agent now? You used your mug shot. This image is everywhere, you thought you could get away with it? ‘Wayne Merric’… I know that name. Wasn’t he a soccer player?”

The answer came with surprising ease. “Hockey.”

“Oh yes.” The hands were back, patting over him until they found another wad of papers. “The nitroglycerine, what was it for?”

Michael went quiet, not wanting to admit it was to pay for passage into Mexico.

Mahone was distracted by the papers. “Trying to know your enemy, Michael? Should I feel flattered or do you do this with every Tom, Dick and… Pam?”

The sudden change in Mahone’s tone was alarming. It went from softly amused to cold, rough, threatening as he voiced his ex-wife’s name.

“Alex – I was just trying to find out about you. I wouldn’t have hurt her. She wasn’t in danger. Please, Alex-”

The kick to his side sent his sprawling to a side, his head bouncing off the floor. The chair was flung down and Alex was on him, one knee on his chest, driving the air from his lungs. He backhanded Michael across the face with a closed hand, making his head snap to a side. Mahone leant close, so close Michael could feel his breath on his cheek and jaw, so close the man was just a blur. One hand cupped his face, thumb pressing into the soft flesh under his jaw.

“You do not know how lucky you are, boy. I would snap your neck if I didn’t think I knew you better than your own brother.” He got up, Michael gasped for air and coughed violently, curling over onto his side.

Mahone stood there for another moment before he turned and left the room, locking the door behind him.

Michael slumped against the cold floor, shutting his eyes against the glaring light. This was going from bad to worse far too quickly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woops, had accidentally forgotten to post chapter 2. No chapter 3 yet, but I'm going to re-watch the series soon in glee for season 5 so.... maaaybe?


End file.
